


Meet Me in the Dark

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Rings, Deepthroating, Domestic Fluff, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, M/M, Massage, Sam In Panties, Sex Toys, Valentine's Day, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day in Chicago and Sam has something special planned. It needs preparation and commitment but requires no reservations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> i... i cried. telling you that right now. 
> 
> this fic takes a deceptively serious tone at the end. so head's up for that. D:
> 
> /sniffs/ okay. uhm. okay. i think i'm okay. ;w;
> 
> thank you for requesting a Chicago Verse Valentine's Day fic. i missed writing these two. <3 
> 
> all of the products mentioned can be found on this NSFW site: early2bed.com. they are actually a thing in Chicago and run by a wonderful gal. it's a lovely feminist sex store and you really do get to try out everything on display. 
> 
> this is the link if you want a picture of the panties (slightly NSFW?): https://xdress.com/product/view/satin-and-ruffle-tie-side-panty-zx118
> 
> aaand here is a link to the song at the end. dunno why i'm on a melissa etheridge kick lately: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR3-cTwjQ6Y
> 
> okay i'm gonna go eat chocolate. i need a hug. 
> 
> comments, please? very appreciated. <3
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, by the way. XD may it be filled with good company, even if you're curled up with Netflix. know that i'm here and i appreciate you being here with me. :D
> 
> EDIT: This fic now has ART. drawn by the wonderful talented Wincestily. <3 Please visit their tumblr and leave some love. it's utterly gorgeous.

Sam is good friends with Sally.

The shop is on Clark but it used to be on Sheridan. Since moving, the store has expanded, but it’s still the same place. Sally is an older white woman who wears cashmere cardigans and pearls every time she’s working. She has about thirty years of retail experience, ranging from working in hotels at the front desk or in catering, to doing work like this.

Her product knowledge is extensive and her discretion is renowned. Shy first time customers usually get paired with Sally, which is how Sam met her. He remains her customer because they get on so well; that’s what keeps him coming back to the store instead of ordering online. It’s a Wednesday afternoon and Sam has taken a half day. His plans require a few days to put together and he wants to take his time. From work he grabbed Starbucks for himself and Sally.

Over lattes they discuss cock rings.

“The Primo is a good starter model. Twenty dollars, removable vibes with four functions, and it comes in either blue or black. Quite fitting colors if you ask me. Now, I do have another model, but it’s pricier at almost a hundred. There’s not too much difference if you ask me and I haven’t heard a raving review of it versus the Primo, so this should start you off pretty well. Has he worn one before?” Sally takes a sip of her latte and passes Sam the sample model. They’re leaning on the sales counter, where she has a few products she’s been meaning to show Sam.

“Yes,” he answers and stretches the ring. “Doesn’t like it but he’ll do it for me. It’s pretty light.”

“Heavy cock rings tend not to be a big hit with most folks. I could offer a sling or a ball stretcher but it sounds like you want something basic.”

“I just don’t want him to come until I want him to.”

“Then the Primo is ideal. In your email you asked for a selection of the plugs. Were you thinking of larger or smaller?” He replies larger would be best and she clears away a few things from the counter. “This is called the Severin. Nearly five inches long and two inches at its widest, it’s very popular. Durable silicone—see the shape?” The black silicone plug looks intimidating but sleek, as if it were some kind of unfortunate office desk decoration. It has a wider base with two bulbs that make it seem like an hourglass. “It’s designed to stay in once inserted. I get mixed reviews from beginners but more advanced individuals love it. A little over thirty and still dishwasher safe.”

He wouldn’t dare put any of his toys in the dishwasher. After holding it in his hands for a minute, he nods and she places the sample in his yes pile. Moving along, Sally pats his hand.

“This is the pricier part, my dear.”

“That’s alright. I swiped our joint card.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she says with a sly smirk. “I need a little more information though. What are his dimensions?”

Dean would probably kill him if he knew he was having a conversation with someone about the size of his dick. Whatever. Dean is forty-seven years old and can suck an egg. This is important work. “I’d say seven but he’d probably say closer to eight.” These are obviously very scientific numbers from years of research.

Sally nods. “Big boy.”

“He likes to think so,” Sam quips. “I’m nine.”

“Don’t brag,” she says with a smile. “You’re above that.”

“Two inches above that.” She swats at him and selects two somewhat scary looking vibrators from her initial selection. He is encouraged to turn them on, test the settings, and get a feel for how they work. A customer comes in from off the street, an elderly woman in her late sixties and Sally greets her like an old friend. Mere, Sally’s coworker, an art student with bright green pixie cut hair, goes over to help the lady. Sally turns her attention back to Sam.

“Frankly, both will suit you fine. But for what you wrote, I think I would go for the Aneros Progasm. It will set you back sixty but it’s another investment.”

It looks like a cross between a plug and a regular vibrator with a narrow base and wider top. Sam is tempted to go for something less radical; this one has two extending tabs from the base that look a little like antennas. They aren’t large, they curl up and don’t even reach halfway up the toy, but they do look strange. Sally senses his hesitation and holds the toy up. “I know honey. But this is what makes it special. Each tab puts pressure on you and overall, this toy is hands-free. You’ll need that feature. Now, the first tab puts pressure on an acupressure point under your sacrum. That’ll give you sensations up your spine. The front tab sits right on your perineum. The thicker head with the angled stem provides direct contact. If you pull this off right, one will help the other.”

She mentions that this one is plastic, so he can’t stick it in the dishwasher.

He takes it in his hands again and tests it out again.

“Let’s continue and you can make your decision later, think it over a bit.” Their lattes are gone by now. “I’m adding a bottle of lube. I know you said you have plenty but you’ll need a thicker kind for what you have in mind. This is the best.” He trusts her when she says it’s the best or it sells well or people have good reviews. He doesn’t stop by here often because what she and the shop sell are quality and none of the toys he’s bought since he first starting shopping have ever faltered.

On his list is one last item.

“Dark blue, gray, or light pink?” she asks, pulling open a drawer from behind the counter.

“What do you suggest?”

“Me? Personally, I think gray is classy.”

“Then we’ll go gray.”

“Perfect. I have one in your size.”

Rung up all together he spends quite a bit of change on his purchases. Well, technically, Dean and he spend quite a bit of change on his investments. Sally gets a portion of the sales she makes in a year so he’s happy to contribute to her bonus. Before he leaves she gives him the tiniest peck on the cheek, which involves him bending down towards her. She hands him the discreet, ordinary looking gift bag with everything neatly wrapped and placed inside.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she says and returns to her place behind the counter. “Always happy to receive word from you that you’re doing well.”

“I won’t be and thank you, likewise.”

“My regards to Dean.”

“Of course,” he says as he’s nearly out the door, “seven inches worth.”

He hears her gasp and snap at him but he’s already on the sidewalk.

 

This takes preparation.

And it’s not something he thinks he could have done a few years ago. There have been tiny attempts but they don’t count right now. A quick glance at an internet guide suggested extensive prep time and opportunities. It’s Thursday, the day before, and he’s got a four day weekend. He has the time but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be enough.

So he adds tequila.

It’s high end tequila from the liquor store two blocks over, where they usually only buy whiskey and beer. After four shots from the decorated bottle he’s good to go and everything feels wonderful. He’s on his bed so Dean doesn’t get suspicious and is currently naked under the covers.

The purpose of the tequila is to get him relaxed, and soon enough he’s liquid, his head on soft pillows, relishing the plush surroundings he’s in. While he works, he closes his eyes and listens to the quiet of their home in the middle of the day. Dean left for work at ten, the rumble of the Impala audible and familiar anywhere.

Sam likes to see Dean the way other people see him.

Maybe he’s one of Dean’s customers, a suburban soccer mom lost in the city, waiting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the lobby, playing a game of Angry Birds while she passes the time. Yes. She’s done up because she had a meeting in the Loop but took a wrong turn on Halsted and ended up in here. Like any typical suburban person unfamiliar with the city, she’s driving extra slow, taking up a lane and a half, and her GPS doesn’t work the best with all the small side streets. Because the city of Chicago doesn’t feel the need to fix potholes until it’s June, she drives through the crater on 18th and Ashland. There’s a rattle in her car and the engine light comes on and she doesn’t see a Starbucks anywhere.

It all brings her here.

In her cream colored pumps and tasteful Chanel suit. Ricky at front checks her in, tries his best to assure her that they’ll get started on her Prius right away. After an hour of waiting she gets bored and frustrated; how long can it take to look at her car? If the mechanic thinks he’s going to sit on his ass all day and let her wait in their dingy, slightly smelly, waiting room he’s got another thing coming. She personally knows someone at the Better Business Bureau—well, it’s her brother-in-law’s cousin but she’s not afraid to write a letter to the right people dammit—and she’s already taken pictures of the shop’s sign.

She marches outside, bundled up in her red pea coat and steps over the slush of February sidewalks. Every footstep is calculated for minimum damage to her designer pumps; she just got these at the mall in Oakbrook two days ago.

As it usually is, the main garage door is open. Maybe a few cars are tucked away in there waiting to be tended to. Hers is in the middle and the hood is popped up. The mechanic is underneath the car, laying on something that looks like a skateboard, his legs spread out in a manner that makes her nose scrunch. He shouts out something to a coworker somewhere, using expletives, and she sniffs; they sure do employ quality workers here.

The coworker doesn’t respond, so the mechanic slides out from where he is. He’s absolutely filthy—has he never heard of doing laundry—with his coveralls covered in oil and grease. His hands aren’t any better but she follows the long line of his body until she sees his mouth.

Sam lets out a groan. Focus.

Sultry. That’s the right word. Even though they’re twisted in a scowl, she can see the full swell of his bottom lip. The generous, well defined curve of his upper lip is a bonus.

What is it like to kiss that man?

To have those curling, full, fat lips pressed hard against her clit?

Catching her breath, she subconsciously presses her hand to her chest. He doesn’t see her as he stands up, kicking the board aside and peering into the hood. He’s trim, with just a hint of a softer middle, but his legs are long and lean with a bowleg curve accented by his naturally wide and commanding stance. Instantly, she knows he’s a man who gets his way.

From the way he handles the car, wipes the grease off his hands with a handkerchief, she knows he’s as rough as the salt on the street.

The coveralls do cover all, however, she can still see the bulge of his upper arms, the strong muscles in his back, and the distinct dip of his lower back that turns into the arch of his ass. The men she knows don’t have asses and they wear ugly pleated pants that do them no favors. While he’s not showing off what he is blessed to possess, she knows he’s aware of what he looks like. It’s in the way he carries himself.

As he is she pictures his hands around her breasts.

That mouth trailing down her neck.

He looks single.

His eyes are green. The smile he presents naturally to something said by a coworker is easy going and crooked, followed by a laugh that reveals straight white teeth and a pink tongue. His eyes crinkle; he’s older, maybe mid-forties. Perfect. He is a man with experience. Even just walking from one side of the car to the other she can see the nearly predatory swing of his hips.

“Where the fuck are you?”

Huh?

“Sam! Get your lazy ass out of bed! Got a call for a hunt that’s urgent. Fucking vampire nest from St. Louis decided to see the Mag Mile.”

Panicking at the sound of Dean’s boots walking closer to his room, Sam shouts, “Don’t come in!”

Has anyone ever yelled that at their older sibling and had it work?

“Don’t come in,” Dean mimics in a snippy tone, his hand on the door knob. “The fuck I won’t, this is my god damned house. You got the UPS guy in there, Sammy?”

He can’t physically get everything settled and put away in ten seconds.

So, he resorts to extreme measures. He throws his alarm clock at the door, sacrificing it for the greater good. It hits the door with force, causing Dean to curse and step back from shock. Of course it only makes him angrier and more determined to storm in, but it buys Sam enough time to roll out of his bed, gather up everything, and sprint to his bathroom where he locks the door.

 

“Are you fucking the UPS guy?”

“No, Dean.”

“Are you fucking the mailman?”

“…”

“The FedEx guy?”

“…”

“The dude from Kinko’s?”

“I’m not dignifying this shit with a response.”

“Oh, yeah, but you will beam a clock at the door like a fifteen year old princess.”

Their bickering lasts throughout the entire hunt, even when Dean is nearly killed by a well-thrown knife from one of the older vampires. It’s Sam’s pull of Dean’s coat that moves him two inches away from having a blade sticking out of his neck. His brother grumbles a thank you and then points at the vampire that threw the knife, declaring that his ass will be kicked first.

Just in time for dinner, they have the nest cleared out. It’s a source of pride that they’re in their forties and don’t need to call for backup to deal with a nest. They are both panting and breathing a little faster than they would have a few years back, and Dean’s knee is hurting, but those are not things either of them mentions out loud. It is good enough that they burn the bodies quickly and discreetly, hidden in Grant Park where it’s already dark out. There are no injuries on either of them beyond some scrapes and bruises. Dean calls his contact to inform them that the hunt is done and the nest won’t be picking off tourists any longer.

A reward of tacos at Sam’s favorite place occurs on the way home.

After they check on Mrs. Martinez, they take separate showers. Dean fixes up a bowl of popcorn and gets the blankets from the linen closet. He sets that up for Sam while he’s in the shower. Sam in turn grabs two beers from the fridge and a tube of warming lotion. They meet at the couch, where Dean opens their beers and turns on the television. Sam massages Dean’s knee until it’s not as stiff, then props his leg up on a few pillows. Good to have it elevated for a while.

“C’mere,” Dean mutters, setting his beer between his legs.

Sam listens.

He gets a kiss.

Then he settles in, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder while they watch a sitcom Dean denies knowing every word to.

Half an hour later, Dean speaks.

“Are you fucking any postal workers on the side, Sammy?”

 

Valentine’s Day means sleeping in.

Dean makes him breakfast and allows him to eat it in his bed. There is a strict no food in Dean’s bed policy, so Sam appreciates the breakfast and the temporary pass. He kisses Dean three times throughout breakfast, once reaching over and carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

A coworker gave Sam two passes to an all-expenses-paid weekend to a B&B spa an hour away in some suburb they’ve never been to before. But that’s not really their kind of thing and they agreed to give the passes to Mrs. Martinez and Mr. Valz, who are now dating. It’s good to see her happy, with more company in her life than her Altito and el rubio. Dean managed, at the last minute, to get the entire weekend off.

“You got plans?” Dean asks, laid out in bed.

“Yeah,” Sam answers with another light kiss. “Later, though.”

“We good?”

“We’re good.”

They spend the rest of the day doing nothing.

 

The Lego helicopter Sam got for Dean this past Christmas is a victim.

It is knocked off the counter and Legos go everywhere. Dean steps on one, which prompts pained cursing, but Sam reels him back in with another rough kiss, pushing his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, prying him open and getting what he wants. He breathes in the punch of breath that Dean gives as Sam drives him against a living room wall. They’ve both finished a bottle of wine and dinner, which makes their movements fuzzy but no less desperate.

This could be anywhere.

It could be the Impala on a back road in Lincoln; a motel room in Cleveland; a rest stop outside of Memphis; a bar in Springfield.

Dean bites down on Sam’s neck, gripping his hair with one hand while the other expertly unclasps Sam’s belt. The indents of Dean’s teeth are familiar. These marks? They’re from sparring. These bruises? They’re from a hunt. Other people see Dean’s teeth; Sam feels them.

He bites with enough pressure on the right spot to make Sam’s toes curl. The mark that is produced will stay there for a few days; perfect.

“More,” Sam pleads, his hands on Dean’s chest. “More.”

The first mark is licked and kissed and sucked, teased and played with until Sam makes a noise. His hair is let go but Dean’s hands go somewhere even better. Groping him firmly, Dean groans and bites down again, this time on the most sensitive part of Sam’s throat. His ass is cupped and squeezed with rough, appreciative hands. Dean rounds his hands over and under Sam, touching him without hesitation, grinding their hips together. He lets off of Sam’s neck with a pop, licking the mark, admiring his work, whispering that Sam is all his—only his.

Fumbling, they wind up in Sam’s bedroom.

Sam pushes Dean down, sits himself on Dean’s thighs, and kisses him fiercely. He gets Dean’s jeans unzipped and slides down, until his knees are on the floor and his mouth is wrapped around his brother’s cock.

No one would be able to guess this part of Dean.

Anyone can arrive at a vague summary by just glancing at Dean, but they would never know this. They would never know that the hairs at the base of his cock and the inside of his thighs are blond and fine. They’ve stayed that way his entire life.

They wouldn’t be able to tell that Dean’s balls are large and heavy, but smooth and just as sumptuous as his bottom lip. There is no way to tell that Dean’s cock gets flushed a dark pink when he’s turned on and teased; that he spurts pre-come whenever Sam deep throats him, as he’s doing now, forcing the tip of Dean’s cock against the back of his throat.

“Sammy,” his brother breathes, lying down, enjoying himself. “Let me fuck you.”

Without releasing Dean’s cock, Sam shakes his head no. He continues, adding spit, opening his mouth wider, bobbing his head and moaning at the sound. Dean closes his eyes and his mouth forms an O. Sam can’t help himself. He pops off, lifts himself up, and kisses Dean. He doesn’t stop until Dean’s mouth is shiny and slick, until he himself can’t hold back.

It’s about time to put their investments to use.

Straddling Dean’s waist, he places calloused hands on his hips and encourages them to pull down. This is the second time. The second time. He places his hands over Dean’s and squeezes, communicating something silently, then lets go and waits. His jeans are pulled down, over the tent of his erection, and Dean draws a sharp breath in.

Sam is hard, his cock is leaking, and it’s visible through the black satin.

It’s a bit fancier than the last pair, since it was well-received.

Reverent fingers trace Sam’s hip bones and feather over the delicate material. His cock is straining against the textured mesh front, causing the elastic to stretch. It’s a perfect fit on him, not too small, and he doesn’t feel like his cock is a sausage on a shoestring. The satin bows on the sides are a little much, but Dean keeps playing with them, tugging them then groping Sam’s ass. The entire time he’s biting down on his lower lip, his breathing slow but slightly labored.

Wide green eyes look up at him. There’s a small whine that escapes Dean’s lips. “Sam…”

“Mm?”

“For me?” It’s not the question Sam expected to hear. He’s caught off guard.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “for you.”

 

As far as investments go, the panties are gold. They’ll sky rocket in value and pay for themselves in a few uses. But they are not the only component to Sam’s gift.

Dean finds this out when his hand dips under the band, over Sam’s ass and in between. His fingers find the Severin, which Sam slipped in after his shower just before dinner. He familiarized himself with it yesterday, day dreaming about Dean in the garage, and kept in it for a few hours overnight. Dean groans and gives a shudder, his fingers tracing the base of the plug, pushing gently at the sensitive skin puckered around it.

“All ready for you,” Sam sighs with a smile, his own fingers tracing Dean’s lips as they lie down side by side. “I’m very efficient.”

“I…” Dean starts to say but ends up looking at Sam, confused and slightly worried. “Did you do this for the UPS guy?”

Well, there goes their moment. Sam snorts and rolls onto his back, feeling relaxed and free of any hurry. He stretches and runs a hand through his own hair. “Will it make you feel better if I told you that yes, I fucked the UPS guy?’

“No.”

“Then what the hell?” Sam snaps and rolls his eyes. “You’re not getting the next part of this.”

A curious expression is made and suddenly Dean is all friendliness and manners. “Excuse me, but what is the next part of this? There’s more?”

“For there to be more you need to stop talking.”

“Okay.”

“That counts as talking.”

Sam withstands thirty seconds of Dean’s kicked puppy look. With a sigh, he sits up and rummages through the supplies for tonight. He takes out the special lube, the Aneros, and the cock ring. He presses his mouth near Dean’s ear and explains that he expects Dean to put on the ring without any fuss—not a word of complaint—and fuck him with both his cock and the vibe. The plug is to get things going and Dean can take it out now; Sam needs more stretching but he’s sure that Dean can find some way to do that for him.

Fifteen minutes later and Sam knows he has underestimated his brother.

Dean can fit four fingers in without any resistance and the combination of his mouth and fingers to aid this process has Sam trembling with oversensitivity. His right thigh twitches when Dean traces a star on it. The panties are covered in come and lube and the main event has not yet started. Feeling generous, Dean mouths Sam’s bloated cock through the panties, prompting Sam’s body temperature to spike. He takes a deep breath and smells what they’re doing, what they’re about to do, what they have been doing since Sam was old enough to ask for it.

His mouth waters.

He pulls Dean up and announces, breathless, “Enough.”

The light on the nightstand is turned off. Dean lies down on his back; his chest is pressed into the bed by Sam’s searing fingertips. In the summer, when Dean’s knee isn’t as achy, their positions are more varied. Wintertime and rainy days mean sticking to Sam riding on top, which he has never minded. This way he carries his own weight and Dean can keep his knee propped up on a pillow. Of course, they never speak about this out loud, but Sam knows, as Dean is passing him the pillow to tuck under his knee, that Dean is grateful for this.

“Never done this before,” Dean admits, his voice low and raspy.

“The great Dean Winchester has never done this sexual act before? Lucky me,” Sam quips back, smirking.

Dean swats at Sam’s thigh. “Shut up. Just… tell me if… you know.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

“Are you nervous?” Sam asks with a small laugh, straddling Dean’s hips once more, joining their hands together. “Dean? For real?” His brother replies in a grumble that of course he’s nervous, he doesn’t want to hurt Sam. The sound of Dean’s voice, even if it’s just small bantering back and forth, helps relax him and he assures Dean that if it hurts he will speak up.

The first time they had sex it hurt—of course it did.

And Sam said something; Dean fixed it.

He’s confident trying this. He wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t.

“Oh shit,” Dean gasps, his hands firmly attached to Sam’s ass, “Sammy, fuck…” The bed creaks as their cocks grind against each other, the satin in between them creating electric friction. Sam leans down, his hair falling from behind his ear, and holds himself up as they kiss. Faster and faster he pumps his hips, working against the thrusts Dean gives, until Dean’s cock is fat and thick from the ring. Sam opens his mouth and lets out a keen as the panties are pushed aside and the Aneros slid in. Confident hands work the toy in until the tabs are situated on their appropriate spots. There’s an offer to let the toy run but Sam declines it. He’s not wearing a ring and vibration at this point will ruin him. The toy moves and a squelch is heard from the lube and Sam’s open, sloppy hole.

“I want you,” Sam cries out, rolling his hips back to meet the movement of Dean’s right hand on the vibe. “Oh god, I want you Dean. Please, please, please…”

“Don’t know… if I can fit…” Dean pants out, his free hand rubbing the small of Sam’s back.

“Please,” Sam pleads with his mouth on Dean’s jaw. “For me?”

Dean’s hand falters and the rhythm of the vibe becomes frantic. Sam feels Dean’s cock twitch; he’s as excited as Sam is, just more hesitant. Wound up and desperate, Sam closes his eyes, gripping onto the sheets. The vibe is twisted so the tabs are out of the way and the tip of Dean’s thick cock pushes against the base.

It seems impossible at first, even to Sam.

And it hurts, regardless of how stretched out and relaxed he maintains himself. It isn’t a slow burn like sex usually is; instead it’s a barrage of sparks and he feels split open. He groans and feels his cock start to soften. Breathing hard, he grits his teeth and pushes his hips down, working with Dean and not against him. He focuses on breathing out and keeping his ass as open as possible but the pressure is kicking the wind out of his lungs. Just as Dean’s head is in, Sam’s eyes water. He flips his hair so that it’s covering his face, not wanting Dean to change his mind.

“Ah, ah…” Sam gasps. He arches his hips up and feels his thighs tremble. Dean hisses when Sam clenches down on instinct. “Hah…” He lets out a breath and his eyes roll back. The vibe occasionally taps against his prostate and he feels his cock respond to that. He forces himself to concentrate on that instead of the pain. Dean angles their hips; his free hand is shaking but Sam feels his that his cock is still hard, thanks partially to the ring. He feels a spurt of come from Dean’s cock and looks at the blissed out expression on Dean’s face. Good.

“Sam, holy shit,” Dean calls out. “Uhn, oh fuck…”

Half way inside, Dean’s cock fattens against the vibe.

Sam closes his eyes and focuses on Dean’s pleasure. Every heave of breath, every echo of awe and arousal—it’s all Sam hears.

“Move,” he finally moans, shoulders shaking, “Dean, move!”

Before Dean begins to move his hips, he reaches and adjusts the toy. Sam is about to snap at him but the adjustment pushes the round head of the vibe square on Sam’s prostate and when Dean thrusts, the tip of his cock applies pressure there.

Dean is loud.

He is not shy about letting Sam know how tight his ass is, how hot it feels, or how all he wants is to fill Sam up. Dean’s hands move to the ribbons and they tug roughly; one hand reaches back and slaps Sam’s ass just as the vibe moves up. The move and the slap cause Sam to toss his head back and moan. His own cock is hard again and Dean reaches for it, wrapping his right hand around it to stroke and apply pressure under the sensitive head.

Filled up. Sam starts to push his hips down, meeting Dean’s thrusts up. Filled up. A tingling feeling starts in the base of his spine and sizzles to the heaviest part of his balls all the way up to the leaking head of his cock. He hears Dean’s balls slap and pound against the base of the vibe. Dean grits something out but Sam doesn’t hear it.

The vibe never slips out. Dean holds Sam’s hips still for ten seconds and shoves himself inside to the hilt. They both lose it. Their movement has no set rhythm. A hand grabs Sam’s hair and pulls, twisting until Sam’s eyes water and he’s begging for everything to be harder. His ass hurts in the best way. He feels Dean and the vibrator slide against each other as his brother fucks him.

Both of them cry out when Dean presses a button on the vibe’s remote.

On the lowest setting, the vibe is still powerful.

It pulses on just the right spot in the right angle. What pushes Sam over completely is the feeling of Dean’s cock pushing in, deep as he can drive it, and pounding against Sam’s prostate at the same time as the vibe.

“Coming,” Sam blurts out, his cock already spurting. “Dean! Oh… yes, yes, yes…” He grinds his hips down so hard the headboard bangs against the wall. He sits up and clenches his ass, his orgasm causing his muscles to spasm, and he dimly feels Dean pop the ring off.

Groaning and screaming Sam’s name, Dean comes a minute later, his eyes shut and his fingers bruising Sam’s hips. The sensation of Dean’s come inside him is intensified; Sam keens when he feels it coat the toy.

Dean finishes with a shout, his eyes rolling back, one hand holding Sam’s hand with a firm grip. The thought of the toy slipping out sticky with come and lube makes Sam shiver. He watches his brother emerge from his own orgasm. They’re both sweating and trembling slightly. Sam takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady his breathing and slow down his heart rate. After a minute of erratic breathing, Dean does the same.

Coughing awkwardly, Sam smiles. “Dean? This is… not so… comfortable now.”

“’sjust fine for me,” he slurs and doesn’t try to avoid Sam’s swat. “Ugh, fine.”

“Be careful,” Sam whispers, nervous now. Nothing hurt too badly but this would make an unfortunate emergency room trip. Dean grumbles that he’s always careful.

The toy stays in. Dean works his cock out with patience and care. Sam groans at the sound of it pulling out. He doesn’t protest when Dean pushes a finger inside him alongside the toy. That doesn’t hurt. When he feels that Dean is going to take his time, he settles himself to laydown half on top of Dean and half on the bed. He closes his eyes and sighs as Dean plays with his hole and the toy, mesmorized by how easy Sam takes it in now.

It surprises Sam when Dean peels himself away from Sam and gets up. He’s about to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing bailing out now, but it’s not necessary. Dean situates himself further down on the bed and kneels in the vee of Sam’s legs. Tender hands pull the panties down, massage his ass and spread him open, one thumb pushing in as Dean’s lips seal around the base of the vibe.

“Uh,” is the only noise Sam can make. His cock responds with a weak twitch.

“Mm,” Dean responds, his tongue curling out and lapping against Sam’s hole. Sam doesn’t protest. He never tells Dean this but he likes this part; so much so that he expects it every time they have sex and is somewhat disappointed if it doesn’t happen. They never had time to do this as teenagers. It was always such hurried business. Now, Dean takes his time, pulling out the vibe and licking his come off it and from Sam’s hole.

There is no where they need to be but here for the next two days.

Dean sucks the toy clean and spends ten minutes with his head resting on the back of Sam’s thigh, watching two, then three fingers slip inside.

“I’m not fucking the UPS guy,” Sam yawns, his voice shot.

“I know you’re not,” Dean says and presses a kiss to Sam’s hole, withdrawing his fingers, satisfied with how much he feels Sam is his. Sam feels how much Dean is straining not to put weight on his knee. He’ll roll out of bed in a minute to get the Aleve and heat pad from Dean’s room and bring it in here.

He’s surprised though, when he feels Dean’s warm hands on his back.

“Didn’t get you a card, Sammy.”

Firm hands rub circles beginning in Sam’s lower back and move up in a languid pace. Knots are loosened and Sam sighs.

“Didn’t get you flowers, either.”

He needs to send a thank you note to Sally. He also needs to check on Mrs. Martinez and Mr. Valz to make sure they made it in alright. Most of the weekend will be worry-free but he does have a secret list of chores Dean needs to finish on Sunday. The kitchen sink is leaking and the paint is peeling in his bathroom. Oh, and there’s the matter of their mailbox, which has been crushed by snow mounds created by the plows. It might also snow tomorrow, so that means they’ll both be out shoveling their driveway and Mrs. Martinez’s.

Dean kisses each of his shoulder blades; his hands have moved up, radiating heat onto Sam’s muscles.

“Didn’t get you chocolate…”

Their home is quiet. Sam’s heart rests. He’s fighting off sleep because he needs to get the Aleve and a glass of water and the heat pad and they should probably brush their teeth.

The start of a song stops Sam’s thoughts.

The voice that sings it is steady and true, low but confident. It’s a slow song, a ballad really, and Dean’s hands play Sam’s shoulders just as fine.

“Keep your eyes down.”

This is the first voice he has any memory of.

“Keep your head lowered, keep to yourself dear, do not tell a soul. You know it’s wrong what they’ve been sayin’ and you knew all along that I would have to go. Find the place where light shines on my reflection, a light where I can stand upon my own, not down on my knees, until then please...”

Something cool like silver presses against the scar Sam has on his back, the one from his very first hunt, the one that never faded.

“Meet me in the dark, meet me in the shadows past the old graveyard on Eisenhower road.”

Dean stitched it up so many years ago.

“Meet me where the storms blow out on their own dear. I’m workin’ hard, savin’ all my money and the tips in this jar will buy a brand new set of wings. Keep your eyes down. Say that you don’t know me. For I could not survive if they took you away.”

It healed over clean because of him.

“Meet me in the dark.”

In the palm of Sam’s hand, in the darkness of his room in their home, a ring is placed.

“Never let me go.”

 

Dean already has his ring on.

It clinks against the one in Sam’s hand.

 

“Never,” Sam whispers as his hair is brushed aside.

 

“Sammy.”

That’s the last voice he ever wants to hear.

That is the last voice he ever will hear.

 

 


End file.
